


Deactivate

by SecretWorthKeeping



Series: Hearts of Gold are the Best to Blacken [1]
Category: jacksepticeye
Genre: Blood, Gore, Poor Jack, trip down insanity lane
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-09-21 15:02:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9553781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecretWorthKeeping/pseuds/SecretWorthKeeping
Summary: “ Jack gazed at himself in the mirror. His left arm struggled against his right hand. He could feel the movement, though it wasn’t his own. Could feel exactly where it wanted to go. Could almost feel it traveling to his mouth, closing over it to keep him from speaking.Don’t be an idiot.He growled, still trying to move Jack’s arm.We’re too intertwined, you’ll die too.Jack already knew the consequences. He looked himself in the eyes; one cornflower blue, one slimy green, and spoke.“Deactivate,” he whispered.The thump of a body hitting hardwood reverberated through the apartment.”Sometimes the darkest things lay in our minds. Sometimes it infects our blood, and destroys our lives. Sometimes it hurts what we love. Sometimes it is something you cannot be rid of.Remember the words when your mind starts to slacken...Hearts of gold are the best to blacken.





	1. Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, guys, new fic! I know, I know, I'm still working on the other one, but, I can't get this idea out of my head, so bear with me, I'll try to stick with both, if I can't I'll have to be loyal to Into the Redroom, just because I've written it longer, and I already have big events planned in it. But anyway, this will be part of a series (hopefully) portraying the darkest things a person can hold in their heads. It's a focus on the alter egos of youtube's greatest. Enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack has a dream.

_The clock chimes. Crystal eyes roll to find it, but it is too far, and he cannot turn his head  enough. He puts it down instead, chin resting on his chest as he fights the oncoming sobs. Fingers tremble, and he clenches them into a fist. The wood of the chair splinters in them. He doesn't care. Footsteps echo hard on his ears and he flinches, looking back up with wide eyes. There are tears in them, and he blinks hard._

 

_The smell of blood wafts to him, and he knows. Goddammit he knows what will happen next. He was never religious, but he prays to God now. Whatever divinity exists, he pleads with it. The dark figure pauses midway, smiles. Its lips crack unseemly and seem to twist. It is the paradigm of evil. He is afraid. His heart thunders and his blood roars in his ears, but he can still hear the footsteps. He doesn’t want to._

 

_Eyelids twitch, but he is unable to close his eyes. It is as if someone holds them open. The figure is close now, too close. Inches from his face. He cowers back, chest heaving erratically. The figure has two unnaturally bright eyes, one blue, like his. One a sick green. Other than this, it wears his face, twisting it into awful expressions that he, himself would never wear._

 

_He cringes. Fingers twitch, but he cannot strike out at it. Wrists pull uselessly and silently on harsh zip ties. It smiles again, teeth gleaming whiter than he could have ever made them. Its breath smells like death, and blood, and he coughs._

 

_Something touches his knee. A small stab of pain, and he looks down. The sight of a knife sets his breathing to hyperventilating. The sight of the knife trailing up to his groin stops any breathing at all. He cannot speak, but if he could he would beg. Instead he holds his breath and waits, eyes locked on the knife with sickening trepidation._

 

_Eventually, the knife moves farther up, grazing past his more private areas. He sucks in a breath, only breathing again when the knife is settled at his stomach. It presses into his flesh with every breath in. Finally, when neither figure can take it anymore — when one is too afraid, and the other is too excited, the knife moves inward. He screeches, thrashing, the most movement in what feels like hours. The knife carves into the sensitive skin on his stomach, and his body is tired, weak._

 

_He can do nothing as the thing continues to carve, a pleased smile on its bloody lips. Tears spill down pale cheeks, and he knows he is screaming, but the sound is drowned out by all the stimulus. The smell of blood, the pain, the sounds of wet flesh being picked apart. It’s all too much. Eventually his breath is gone, and he is cold, but he will not fade. He wants to, tries to slip away into death, where he knows he belongs. But he can’t escape. He can’t draw in breath, his heart no longer beats, but he cannot escape._

_“Help me,”_

 

 

Jack sits up in bed, heart thundering wildly in his chest, gasp on his lips. He draws a steadying breath in, hand on his chest, just to know he is alive. Sweat traces a path down his forehead, and he sighs, slumping backwards onto his sheets as he processes. 

 

“Jesus,” he breathes. _Just a dream._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Hello._
> 
>  
> 
> F̸̤͍̎o̷̠̹̓r̵͍̀͑g̶͙̐ó̴͕t̷̹̦̔̅ț̵͉͋ḙ̵͊n̸͓̰̅,̷̧̮̿̒ ̸̮͉̾o̴͎̔̾r̴̻̲̓͂ ̷̥̼͗ẗ̶̬́ǭ̵̗͠o̸͙͠ ̷̘̏͠a̴̬͕̎͋f̶̦̈́r̷̖͔̈́ä̸̜́͂i̶̖̘͆d̷̨͎̍ ̴̥͌t̴̪͔̊̕o̷͍͓̊̀ ̶͇̃̓r̷̰̉͠ë̴̟̩́̏ḿ̴̨̎e̶͇͔̊m̴̠̪͋b̷̰̪̍̔é̵̞̈́r̸̘̼͘?̴͍̲̎


	2. Encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack gets an unfortunate visit from someone he doesn't know exists.

Jack is in the midst of recording when he first sees it — a sign that something is wrong. He catches his reflection on a momentarily blank screen, and finds himself captivated by it. He’s not sure why, until the head tilts in the opposite direction from him. 

 

At first he doesn’t notice, until it grins when he doesn’t. He’s stunned for a moment, but mystified. He leans closer to it, not realizing the screen should have returned by now. Watches it with a growing trepidation in his stomach, and a piercing curiosity in his eyes. It tilts its head again, smile widening, and Jack thinks he sees the tiniest hint of fangs. _So strange,_ he thinks, still in his curious daze. The reflection laughs, and Jack doesn’t realize he flinches. A cold dread begins to form just below his spinal cord, and the curiosity fades in a heartbeat. 

 

He’s heard that laugh before.

It sounds very much like his own, but _not quite_. It’s almost grating, harsher somehow. He’s still stunned, still frozen, watching the reflection, but his feelings are different now, tugging on his frozen limbs with a growing intensity. 

 

Finally, the reflection lashes out, as if to hit at him. Despite realizing that it _is_ only a reflection, Jack jumps back, nearly falling out of his chair. He is no longer enthralled, and feels the urge to leave the room, to never look back at his computer again.

 

He rises from his chair, but when he blinks, the game has finished loading and the screen has returned. He blinks again, confused, heart beating just a touch too fast. He stands there a moment, watching the screen closely, before sitting back in his chair. _You’re losing it, Jackaboy._ he thinks with a slight chuckle. He ignores the trepidation squeezing his chest, and gets on recording. 

 

He’s already forgotten the whole thing by the time he is done recording. And by the time a week rolls by he can’t even remember there was an incident at all. Life gets on normally, and Jack sees no issues.

 

Until it happens again.

 

He’s in the bathroom, brushing his teeth in front of the mirror. For a moment, he thinks he hears the smallest hint of a whisper. He stops brushing, reaching out and turning the water off. He tilts his head and listens. 

 

Nothing.

 

He shrugs, continuing to brush his teeth, until the sound comes back, louder. Jack can almost make out words.  **_Don’t ignore me…_** Jack, chocking it up to imagination, is still managing to be content with the morning. But then he sees the blood, pooling in the sink and swirling down the drain. Thick. There’s so _much_ of it. Jack nearly chokes, dropping the toothbrush in surprise, eyes flying up to look in the mirror. To his horror, blood is practically pouring from his mouth, leaking from his gums, his tongue, his cheeks. 

 

That voice again. **_Don’t. Ignore. Me._** It sounds almost angry. A low growl.

 

He can taste the coppery substance now, and he spits in the sink trying to rid himself of it. He turns on the water, intent on cleaning his mouth, but when he cups it in his hands it’s thick black slime. He drops it, but it sticks to his hands like molasses. Thick and sticky, and just too heavy. He stumbles back, hands flying to wipe them on his shirt. The smell carries to his nose, and he gags.

 

It smells like death. 

 

The substance begins to burn, and there is still blood running down his chin. Terrified, he reaches for the shower, turning the knob without second thought. More black sludge falls from the shower head, and Jack jumps back. He slips on a small pool of blood on the floor, and goes sprawling, cracking his head on the tile. 

 

Pain erupts in his skull, and he gasps, gripping the tiles with tense fingers. He struggles to his knees, clutching his head, groaning. He hears the voice again, this time not just loud, but screeching, thought crushing. **_DON’T IGNORE ME!_** Beyond the words it sounds like harsh feedback, and Jack pulls at his green hair, digging his fingers into his scalp. 

 

He screams, unsure if it’s because of the pain, or because he wants to drown out the sound. It doesn’t work, and he falls once more, curling into himself, fingers still grasping his head. Tears are falling unbidden from his eyes, and his whole body trembles. He is cold, but his brain is scorching, and he can’t take the pain. 

 

He can’t breathe, chest heaving uselessly, and belatedly, in the back of his mind, Jack wonders if it’s a panic attack. 

 

He thinks he hears the slightest hint of a laugh, just beyond the feedback, and a cold stone of dread forms in his stomach. He passes out to the sound of it, shaking and crying.

 

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _You'll learn not to ignore me_
> 
>  
> 
> I̵̢͙͓̙͔̼͋̏̑̒̀͊͆͛'̴̬̥̫̲͙̿̀m̶͈̳̞̗̓͐͐̈̇̔͆̑͂̓͜͝ ̶͚̖͑̕͝c̵͕̥͈̝͆͗o̶̝̪͙̒̉̋̋̉̑̚͝m̴̡̧̩͚̮͈̜̜͖̦̾̿̄ͅi̵͈̪̺̠̩̭̺̝̣͘ͅͅng̴̡̤̘̳͍̱̞̙̞̹̹͉͛̐͜ͅ.̶̧̣̮̲͖͙͙̭̗͇͙͙̫͇͈͐̍̃̈́͒̽̆̌̒͝͝


	3. Presence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack is in denial.

Jack opened his eyes if only to acknowledge that it was only a dream, and he was safe in his bed. Instead, when he awoke, he had a terrible headache, and he was still on his bathroom floor. The only difference was there was no blood or black gunk anywhere. 

 

 _Maybe I hit my head?_ He thought to himself, reassuring himself that, yes, it did suck, but _no_ , he was not losing his mind.

 

Thankful for that, but still grumpy, Jack rose to his feet. He staggered slightly, before making his way to his recording room. He sat at his computer, pulling up Skype.

 

 _Signe?_ He typed, hoping she’d respond. The green icon wasn’t there, but he hoped she’d see it. _Signe, you there?_ He regretted not asking her to move in with him, but Ireland is far away from her family, and he didn’t want to move too fast because he’s lonely. He wanted everything to be one hundred percent real. 

 

He sat for a few minutes, listening to the silence press on his ears. He wanted to tell Signe about his fever dream. When he was certain Signe wasn’t on, he scrolled through his friends. _Felix isn’t on…Neither is Marzia…Robin’s probably still sleeping… Oh, Mark’s on!_ He clicked on his name, hand hesitating over the call button. He knew he looked bad, dark bags under his eyes, paler than usual skin. He’d seen himself in the mirror, having swallowed the sense of dread that had come with it. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. 

 

He hit the button, anyway, hoping Mark wouldn’t notice. He looked at the time, and his eyes widened in surprise. _Twelve? Already? It had been six when I was brushing my teeth._ He thought it over. _That means it’s nine over there._ Maybe Mark would be tired and wouldn’t notice Jack’s disposition. 

 

There was little hesitation on Mark’s end, and the call started.

 

“Hey, Jack,” Mark grinned, and Jack smiled back. Any tension in his shoulders faded as he finally talked with a friend. The isolation must have really been getting to him. 

 

“Hey, Mark,” he said lightly, grateful Mark was on. That is, until Mark asked his question.

 

“What’s up?” he asked, and suddenly Jack didn’t know what to say. He sucked in a breath, looking away. 

 

“Well,” he started, suddenly unsure. “I just, ya know, had this really weird dream,” Mark raised an eyebrow, the hint of a smirk on his lips. 

 

“Did you have nightmare, Jackaboy?” Mark asked, and Jack laughed tightly.

 

“I…yeah…well,” Jack was suddenly very self conscious about the incident. He felt like an idiot about it, even more so now that he was semi-avoiding mirrors. “When I was brushing my teeth this morning I fell and hit my head, the dream that I had was…” Jack thought back, unsure what to call his nightmare (because it was _most certainly_ a nightmare). “Rattling,” he finally decided, trying not to sound too much like a baby.  

 

But Mark was understanding.

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, and even more tension left Jack’s shoulders. He smiled in relief at his friend.

 

“Yeah,” and he proceeded to tell Mark about his dream. Mark blinked, and then offered him a smile.

 

“That sounds like a problem,” he said jokingly, and Jack nodded, laughing. 

 

“Yeah, it was a crazy dream. I uh…I just woke up, about five minutes ago.” Mark gave him a worried look.

 

“What time were you brushing your teeth?” he asked, voice almost hesitant. Jack looked down, embarrassed.

 

“Six,” he said softly.

 

“In the morning?” Mark asked, surprised. “Jesus, are you okay? Did you lose any blood? You do look paler than—” Jack’s laugh was slightly strained.

 

“Mark, I’m fine,” he said. “I checked, I’m good.” _Except for the creepy voice in my head._ Where had that thought come from? _It was a dream, Jack._ He told himself.

 

 ** _It wasn’t_.** The same voice from his dream hissed into his ear, and he jumped, looking around.

 

“Jack, you alright?” Mark’s voice sounded worried, and Jack nodded.

 

“Fine,” he muttered distractedly. “Heard something outside my window, must’ve been a bird.” The lie slipped easily off his tongue. When did that ever happen? He snapped himself out of his daze, choosing to ignore the voice. _You’re too stressed, Jack,_ he told himself. _That’s it_. The incident was tucked into the back burner of Jack’s mind as he chatted with Mark. 

 

They chatted for a little while, before Jack finally looked back at the time.

 

“Crap, Mark, I gotta make some videos, or it’ll get too late.” Mark nodded yawning. 

 

“Yeah, I’m tired anyway.” 

 

“Bye Mark.” Jack said waving.

 

“Bye Jack.” 

 

The silence that came after the call ended was suffocating and Jack attributed it to the fact that he missed living with people. It had nothing to do with the nervousness he felt in being alone all of a sudden. That definitely wasn’t it. 

 

Getting up to get something to drink before recording, Jack squared his shoulders and lifted his chin.

 

“You’re being silly,” he told himself aloud sternly. “Stop it.” He nodded to himself, exiting the room and heading for the kitchen. He grabbed a glass, hand hovering over the faucet handle. He hesitated, looking at it with apprehension. Just as he was about to turn the faucet, deciding it wasn’t about to spew death juice, a loud bang sounded right by his ear and he dropped the cup.

 

Glass shattered across the floor, and Jack winced, bending to pick it up. In favor of the new task he found it easy to ignore that the bang happened at all. As he gathered up the glass in his hands he managed to cut himself. The sight of blood made him pale, but he swallowed hard and purposely avoided looking at it. He threw it away, but as the glass was leaving his hand one of his finger clenched forward, catching a piece. It cut into his palm and he gasped, pulling his hand up to his chest. _Two times in a row?_

 

He cradled it in his arm, watching the blood drip drop onto his kitchen floor. **_Isn’t it so pretty?_ ** That voice hissed again, and Jack jumped, looking around the room. No one.

 

He refused to believe it was in his head. He wasn't crazy…right?

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Denial is the prettiest shade of green._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> F̸͍͎͓̋́͋̈̑́̔̆̽ê̴͇̩͎͔̖̙̦͎͈͚͎̽̈͗́̑̄͗̄͛͋̀͜͝͝ĕ̷̢͔̬͖̪̞̊̈́̃͒̀̃́̃̐̌͝ͅl̸̨̮̭͉̮͑̐̅͜ͅ ̷̡̗͔̈́̉͆͊̌͑̚̚m̷̝̘͉͕̤͕͇̱̮͈̠̊̎͒̎͘͜y̵̦̟̖͙̼̞̲̭̱͈̘̤̻͉͆̒͜ ̷̭̠͕̥̬͐̈̀̒̌̾̑̎͗͘͘̕͝ͅp̵̼̥̬͛̃͗̑͂͊̇́̓̀̀͘̚r̵̡̜̦̖̗̯̥̰̤̬̩̤̗̍ę̷̧͕̠͙̟̩̓̊̏̆̇͠ͅș̷̢̬̲͓̹̭͕͔̬͎̟̜̏̈́̽͗͑̏͂̈́͜è̷̢̯̥̭̞͕̮̬̼̿͆͗̀̉̈̒̌͘͘̕̚͠͠n̵̛̗͈̦̭̫̪̻̉̆̔c̴̢͎̠̅̿̃̍̅̊̄̑͐̉͆̀̍͘͝e̷̛̳̹͎̮͍̤͍͍̖̣͊̈̄͒̈́̕ͅ


	4. Performance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack sleeps.

A week had passed, and Jack could no longer ignore the voice. Constantly whispering threats and violence in his ear, he was going crazy. The videos had suffered for it, and the fans could tell. More and more, the comment section began to fill with concerned fans asking about his health, and rude hecklers who called him a whack job. Jack didn’t want to acknowledge either problem. Didn’t want to bring it up in a video. He was afraid to solidify the possibility of being insane by telling other people. He was truly terrified of mental instability. He avoided making a comments video for as long as he could, but it was obvious to the fans what he was really avoiding. 

 

Instead he played indie games, and made a few short series videos, yelling through the silence and pretending he was fine. He winced every time he saw himself, sickly pale and looking drained. Even his hair had begun to lose it’s bright green, fading faster than Jack remembered. 

 

He was editing his own videos now, deleting every unnatural jump, and the sparse moments in which he responded to the voice. Every scream and reaction. After editing them himself, he sent them to Robin to finish editing. If he noticed he didn’t say anything, and Jack was grateful. 

 

The nights were the hardest. The nightmares plagued him every night, and Jack had grown afraid to sleep. He had learned that the voice liked to create torments just for him. It haunted his dreams and crept through his reality. He was really losing it. 

 

But it wasn’t until that Friday that Jack knew he couldn’t avoid seeing a doctor. Having bandaged up his hand with tight gauze, and avoided anything remotely sharp, Jack was resolute in ignoring the voice and all of the misfortunes it seemed to bring. But he couldn’t avoid the nightmares. Not sleeping just made him crash for longer, and he seemed to get stuck in more horrifying, twisted, elongated scenarios. He couldn’t avoid them. Couldn’t escape them. 

 

They began to affect everything.

 

Recording was much harder, as Jack’s hands began to shake consistently. It was getting harder to hide it, and his fans were still questioning his health. His eyesight got fuzzy and it became hard to see sometimes. He hadn’t talked to any of his out of country friends (he hasn’t talked to anybody really) since he talked to Mark (except for Robin, who he can’t avoid if he wants to continue working), but he knew they were getting worried. He avoided Skype and went onto Twitter as little as he could manage. 

 

The messages from Felix, Mark, Ken, Wade, and Bob were piling up. Even the grumps messaged him here or there with an inquiry on his current state of being. Every message made him wince. Each one that he didn’t reply to felt like a bullet, but every time he tried to reply, he felt a knot curling in his stomach. The sickness didn’t ease until he deleted every word.

 

He didn’t want to be crazy. He didn’t want to need help.

 

The worst ones were from Signe. He knew she didn’t think he was avoiding her, but every message (babe are you there? Seán, are you okay? Seán, please answer me, you’re scaring me! Mark and Felix said you haven’t been answering them either? Seán, please please talk to me. Seán, I love you, call me when you can. _Jack?_ ) was heartbreaking.

 

His mother and his father were getting worried as well, and Jack didn’t know how to talk to them about this. He was terrified of their answers. “You need help, Jack,” his mother would say. “Now, Seán, you’re not broken, _but_ —” his father would have good intentions, but Jack knew his heart wouldn’t be able to take it. Allison called him a few times, but he had long since turned his phone off, only checking it every once in a while.

 

Despite the fear, the isolation was unbearable. 

 

The dreams, however…The nightmares were _killing_ him. So that night, when he lay down to go to sleep, he was too afraid to close his eyes. He stared at the dark ceiling, imagining all the horrors waiting for him. It had become routine now, he knew he couldn’t fight it forever. As if he was taking pills, at exactly eleven o’clock, he would fall asleep, unable to stay awake. The feeling of it was unnatural, and Jack knew that it had something to do with the voice.

 

 

_This time it was dimly lit, a pleasant difference from the usual terrifying darkness of the unknown._

 

_But the light was only a slight comfort that did little to calm Jack’s frayed nerves as he glanced around at the unfamiliar environment. It was like a house, with quaint furniture and with general home features. Pictures hanging on the wall, a simple staircase leading up to a second floor. The difference was the giant glass wall that Jack faced. It fit wall to wall, and floor to ceiling, and it almost seemed as if it kept going beyond those._

 

_Jack’s first thought was this is insane. Jack’s second thought was ‘I have limited space~?’  His mind was already evaluating his situation, from hours of games and puzzles, his mind was trying to figure out just what to do. How he could do it. How much space he had. How much danger he was in. Jack’s third thought was ‘holy shit~what was that?!’ A dark figure stood practically motionless behind the glass, which was scary on its own. But what Jack was more afraid of was the size of the figure. Jack felt small,_ **_was_ ** _small, looking up at it. It towered over him, and Jack heard his heartbeat in his ears._

 

_He backed away from the glass, into the wall with the pictures. There were no other rooms, and Jack was hesitant to climb the stairs. He had no idea what was up there. He felt trapped. He hated feeling trapped. More of a nervous habit than anything, Jack squeezed the fingers of his left hand into his palm, then the fingers of his right hand into his right palm to balance it out._

 

_Upon this motion, as if it were planned, the wall behind Jack started to rumble. Jack watched as a gleaming white smile spread across the face covered in shadow. It was the only visible feature. Jack shuddered, unable to pull his eyes away as the world around him began to shake. He groped along the wall, hoping to find some escape without taking his eyes off the beast._

 

_He was afraid that if he looked away, it would break through the glass to attack him._

 

_Instead of solid wall, his hand landed on something soft, almost squishy._ **_Human skin._ ** _His heart stuttered in his chest as he turned around to face whoever was behind him. The man towered above him, heavy-built with a dark smile on his lips to match the dark figure’s. His face was rough and scarred, and Jack found himself taking a step back from the burly man._

 

_He tried to push words past his heavy tongue, but his lips felt like dead weight, his teeth clacking uselessly together. A whimper sounded from his throat, and Jack felt like a stranded mouse with a cat. The man took a step forward and Jack took another back. He swallowed past a lump in his throat as he fought with himself between turning around to face the figure and head for the stairs, and just leaving himself to be killed by the new man. Because Jack was sure the man wanted to kill him. Both options left him with a cold dread that settled on the bottom of his stomach, but there was a barrier between him and the figure. There wasn’t one between him and the large man._

 

_There was no doubt in Jack’s mind that both were malicious. He had no doubt they wanted him dead. The disquiet of unwarranted loathing and violence crackled in the air around the hairs on his neck, shifting between them as they rose. The two meant danger; every primal function in his body told him that._

 

_It took Jack less than a second to bolt for the stairs, and he allowed himself a moment of triumph as he raced up them, realizing he’d barely given the large man time to react. He did pride himself on how fast he could run. The thought was cut short, however, by the pounding footsteps behind him. His heart rate crept higher as he reached the top of the stairs and found himself completely trapped._

 

_The upstairs was one single room, with two walls, and the stairs. There was no furniture, and Jack found, much to his growing distress, that the glass did in fact continue past down stairs. The figure continued to loom over him, smiling that spine-chilling smile. Jack ran to the middle of room as he processed what was happening. He watched the man as he pounded up the stairs, dark beady eyes finding his._

 

_The man’s fists were clenching and unclenching, and Jack imagined he wanted to feel the bones breaking under his hands. He shuddered at the thought, backing away as the man approached him. Jack was far too aware of the limited space._

 

_The panic that had been building up in him exploded when his back hit the wall. He let out a cry as the man towered over him. His eyes swung over to the shadowy figure, and before he could stop them, words fell unbidden from his mouth._

 

_“Help me!” he yelled to the figure without much thought. But the moment the words left his mouth he regretted it. It was that basic human instinct that pushed itself from his lips; it was that, that caused the angry tremor in the figure. It’s smile immediately disappeared, and the room, once again, began to shake._

 

_Jack could feel the weight of the figure’s anger in the large man’s eyes. He towered over Jack, face menacing. Jack could feel adrenaline beginning to work its way through his body, and his fight or flight response was properly kicking in again. Without the option to run, Jack had no other choice but to try to strike out at the man, fist connecting solidly with his gut._

 

_The man did not react, but Jack did, gasping through the sudden pain pulsing through his fingers, and wincing at the audible crunch heard. One of his fingers was broken. Terror gripped Jack’s chest as he slid down the wall, a pitiful attempt to escape a situation that was inescapable. The man loomed above, smiling down nastily. If Jack had had the guts to look away, he would’ve seen the smile return to the figure._

 

_The man leaned over him, hands reaching out, and Jack cringed into the wall, muscles tensing._

 

_“Wait!” he shouted, word cracking. The man sneered, wrapping his hands around Jack’s throat. Jack choked, eyes bulging as his hands clawed at the man’s. The man squeezed, fingers digging viscously into his neck. Jack’s lungs burned, face turning red, as he struggled against the large hands. He was being strangled, and he was too weak to escape. He was going to die. Shit, he was going to die! He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe he couldn’t—!_

 

_The man let go of Jack suddenly, taking a mechanical step back. Jack collapsed, glaring up at the man with a mix of terror and anger. His hands went to his own neck to gently massage the skin there, ignoring the tears streaking down his cheeks. The man moved, but jerkily, back and forth on the spot. It almost looked like…a glitch?_

 

_Jack’s vision began to get fuzzy, as the man blinked out of existence. Jack rubbed at his eyes, still panting and gasping. The figure moved, then, leaning closer to the glass, with that awful smile._

 

_“Game over.” It was the voice._

 

Jack awoke with a start, complete darkness enveloping him. He coughed, jerking, as he realized he was still choking. He gasped, arms flailing wildly, as he struggled with whatever was holding him down. Claustrophobia clutched at his chest and squeezed, and tears rose to his eyes. He couldn’t breath! _God, not again,_ he thought desperately, still flailing.

 

He felt embarrassment creep through his veins as the blankets fell off the bed. That’s all it was. A bad dream and some heavy blankets. Jack took a deep calming breath, sitting up and leaning onto his knees. He looked down at his shaking hands, before clenching them into fists. He sighed heavily, allowing his head to fall forward, too exhausted to keep it up. The light filtering through his curtains was calming, but Jack could still feel the ache of bruises on his throat. 

 

The nightmare was so _vivid_. 

 

He stumbled out of bed, to his bathroom, hesitating for only a second outside of the door. He froze as he looked at himself in the mirror.

 

Deep, finger-shaped bruises stuck out against the pale skin of his neck. The pain came back and hit him like a ton of bricks. He coughed, his throat sore, voice scratchy as he murmured expletives.

 

He needed to talk to someone. He needed help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _What a lovely performance._
> 
>  
> 
> T̴̛̠̤͇̻͇̫͖͋͆͊͊̄̒̓͜͜ŕ̶̨͔̫͎͈̰̻̜̬͗̐̈́̃̀͊̈́͝ȃ̶̫p̴̨̦̼̰͎̰̻̦̞̹͆͌̈́̂̍̽̈͋͒̎̿̕̚̕p̴̧͖̥̥͖̜̱͙̭̒͌̇͗̌͒͋͐͘ȩ̵̢̣͇̥̱̟̜̘̞͚̲͕̗̤̃̿̓̎̓͌̐͘d̶̼̟͙̂


	5. Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack breaks his silence.

Jack knew it was a long time coming. He needed to talk to his friends, his family. His family was a deeper, darker fear that curled in his gut, but he knew he couldn’t avoid it much longer.

 

When he messaged them, their responses were instantaneous. Messages filled with relief, and worry, and anger. Jack was almost relieved by it. Having pushed through the nausea turning in his gut, Jack could actually _talk_ to people again. His fans, his friends, his family. It was so goddamn _relieving_. 

 

Then he set up a Skype call with Robin. He’d only messaged him for business related things, like videos, and concepts, and he knew that Robin had been trying very hard to respect his privacy, and not talk to him like a friend. If it was anyone who deserved answers, it was the editor who kept putting up with his shit. 

 

There was no pause between the time Jack clicked the call button, and the time Robin accepted. He was met with Robin’s worried, drawn out face, and his own pale sickly one in the corner. Jack barely had time to take a breath before Robin was bombarding him with questions, eyes wide and panicked, jumping from his neck, to his face.

 

Seeming to realize that he was talking to fast for Jack’s exhausted mind to keep up with, he ended with a simple, urgent “ _Jack_?” The terror on his face was reflected on Jack’s own. 

 

“Robin,” he said, voice depleted and scratchy. He coughed once to talk properly, but it did little. The apparent abuse his neck had taken had destroyed his voice. “Somethin’s hap’nin’ ta me.” His voice was desperate and terrified, and though he tried to hold them in, tears were pricking at his eyes again. Robin gaped at him like a fish for a minute, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. 

 

“Who did that to you, Seán?” he asked, finally, swallowing hard. Jack shook his head, the tears falling. 

 

“I don’t know, Robin,” he said, edging on complete panic. “I don’t—”

 

“You mean you didn’t get a good look?” Robin asked, and Jack felt hopelessness crawl up his abused throat. How did he explain?

 

“No, I mean…” He bit his lip, looking down at his lap. “I mean…I woke up like this, Rob.” Robin sat forward, eyes bulging from his head. 

 

 

“Where did you wake up? How did you get back home? Did anyone…? Have you….? Are you…?” Jack knew exactly what it was Robin was afraid to say, and he shook his head once more, frustrated. 

 

“Yer not listenin’ ta me!” he said, the desperation and frustration coming through his broken voice, and he winced as it tore at his throat. “I woke up at home, nobody drugged me, or nothin’ like that…” 

 

“Then what the hell caused _that_?” Robin asked, gesturing wildly at his neck. 

 

“I had a dream…” he started, unsure of himself. Robin quirked an eyebrow. 

 

“A dream?” Jack nodded, feeling self-conscious. _Not crazy,_ he thought desperately. “Caused that?” Robin obviously didn’t believe him. 

 

“Yes,” he sighed, running his hands through his hair. “In the dream someone had—” he shuddered, briefly closing his eyes. “someone had strangled me, and when I woke up, I had these bruises.” Robin looked at him for a long moment, and Jack had to look away. 

 

“Jack,” Robin finally said, voice low and concerned. “If someone threatened you, if you’re afraid of something, you can—” But Jack cut him off, shaking his head with fervor, making himself dizzy. 

 

“No, Rob, please, I’m not lying. Somethin’s really wrong with me.” 

 

“Okay, Jack,” Robin said, hands out in a placating gesture. “I believe you, I _do_ ,” Jack sighed. 

 

“But,” he whispered. Robin nodded.

 

“But, it does sound a little…different.” Jack’s shoulders tensed.

 

“I’m not —!” Robin put a hand up to stop him. 

 

“You’re not lying, I know, I believe you, Seán.” Jack bit his lip again, crushing it hard between his teeth. He kept his eyes down, unable to meet Robin’s gaze.

 

“No…I mean…I’m not crazy,” his voice was soft, and he hoped Robin had heard, because he didn’t think he could repeat the words. Silence settled, and Jack was tense, waiting for the voice to fill it. His nerves were wrecked after the dream, and his fingers twitched in his lap, waiting for _anything_ to happen. Unable to take it anymore, Jack looked up to the screen, needing some form of interaction to take him from his thoughts.

 

“Okay, Seán,” Robin finally said, looking away himself. When he looked back, he had a small smile on his face. “Have you talked to Malcolm yet?” Jack snorted. 

 

“He’d probably tell me to run it off or somethin’,” he said, laughing lightly. Sure, his brother meant well, but _Jesus,_ the man ran _everywhere_. Jack’s laugh faded as Robin’s face turned serious again.

 

“I’ll take your word on it, but…” Jack felt his stomach tighten in fear. _Don’t say it…Please Robin, don’t say it._ “I think you should try to see someone.” Jack winced, breathing in deep to ease the pressure on his chest. 

 

“I…” _Can’t. I can’t._ “I’ll try,” he said instead, thinking over what that would look like in his schedule.  _Breakfast, coffee, being crazy, and videos —_ Horror dawned on Jack, and his hand traveled subconsciously to his throat.  “Robin,” he wheezed, panic striking him. “What will I do about my fans?”

 

“Jack,” Robin began, but Jack shook his head. This really worried him.

 

“I can’t cover this up,” he said, swallowing hard. The action caused a burning ache from the back of his mouth, down to the top of his chest. “How am I supposed to make videos like this?! No one will believe me that I wasn’t attacked, and —” 

 

“Jack!” Robin interrupted, brows furrowed.  “Do you think it’s wise to make videos right now? I mean, Jack, your fans will understand if something’s wrong,” he bit his lip, knowing how touchy of a subject this was for Jack. “Maybe you should take a break.” Before Jack could protest, he continued. “Just for…like a month or something?” Jack felt like his eyes would pop from his head. 

 

“A month‽” Jack asked, incredulous. “I can’t quit for a month!” Robin winced, regarding him silently. 

 

“Jack have you looked at yourself?” he asked quietly. “It’s not quitting, it’s taking a break, and anyway…” he trailed off, choosing his words carefully. He shook his head, as if fighting with himself. “You look like shit,” he said. “I’m sorry, but, it’s true. You need rest, and Seán, you need _help_.” Jack brushed his hand over his arm.

 

“I…I know, Robin,” he said quietly. “I gotta talk to some other people…so, I gotta go…” Robin sighed heavily, then nodded.

 

“Bye, Jack. Take care of yourself, okay?” Jack nodded, then ended the call. 

 

 _How many more times will I have to have this conversation?_ He sighed, mouse hovering over Felix’s name. Once again, there was little hesitation on the Swede’s end. 

 

“Jack~!” Felix said, half-ecstatic, half-worried. His voice dropped with his eyes. Jack shifted nervously as Felix stared at his neck with little subtlety. “Jack?” his voice was wavering, and Jack almost felt guilty that he made Felix worry at all. “What the hell happened?” 

 

The conversation went on much like Robin’s, but Jack cringed through it. Then he talked with Mark, he talked with Bob, and Ken, and Wade, and PJ, Emma, Tyler, and Ethan. The conversations didn’t get easier, but Jack felt any tension or pressure easing off of him. It felt good to talk about it. It _helped_.

 

But as he was about to talk with Signe, because by Jesus, he _needed_ to talk with Signe, a tight knot formed in his stomach. It twisted and flopped, and Jack actually thought he would throw up. But he could work through it. Dammit, he had to!

 

As his finger hovered unsure over the button, his computer crashed. Every light in the room, in the apartment, went out. At first, Jack’s mind supplied him with an obvious answer. _A black out_. But the hair on Jack’s neck was standing on end, and chills were working their way up and down his spine, filling every fiber of his body. 

 

Jack had never been afraid of the dark, but this darkness was pressing on him from all sides. It was cold, and Jack could see things running around in the shadows every time a car passed by. He sat, frozen, heart thumping hard in his chest, until a hand came down on his shoulder.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A cry for help won't save you now._
> 
>  
> 
> I̶̧͉̳̰͖̹̥͙̰̫̫̫͑̀̈͛͗͒͊̈́́͌̈́͐͘͠͠ͅ'̵̱̩̭̪̐̓̇m̴̧̨͎̜̻̠̰̬̼̼̒̑̀̋͂̆̅̂̋͆̈̄̿ ̶̙̗̝͈͇̬̟́̇̎h̶̤̺͍̖͎̫̗͋͆̑̓͗͘ͅe̴̘̘͙̘̥̠̼̻̐̋̏̊͋͂́̉͗̕͝ŗ̶̡̹̘̬̰̦̩͔̣͔̩̥̮̝͑͒͛̇ê̴̛͉̖͇̼̥̻̝̲͖̦͑̿́͌͆̄́͋


	6. Trapped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack becomes trapped.

Jack felt a burst of panic explode in his chest, as he jumped up and turned around. His eyes skimmed across the darkness of his room, searching for the source of the hand, but there was no one there. 

 

Jack’s skin crawled, and he turned back to his computer, desperate. 

 

“No no no,” he groaned to himself, frantically typing at his keys. He didn’t know why it seemed so important, but his hands flew over the keyboard almost without instruction. When he realized the computer would not boot back up, he straightened his back, turning towards the shelf on the other side of the room. Where his phone was. 

 

He sucked in a breath, reminding himself that he wasn’t afraid of the dark, before diving childishly for the phone. He snatched it without mishap, and tried to turn it on. The screen remained dark, and Jack felt dread sink in his stomach. He had charged his phone, he _knew_ he did. 

 

The door next to him slammed shut, and he yelped loudly, jumping. He stumbled away from it, disoriented, before he froze, eyes wide.

 

The breathing in his ear was deep and ghosted across the flesh of his neck. Jack’s own breathing was shallow, as deep-seated terror clawed into his chest. His fingers twitched uselessly at his sides, and goosebumps rose across his arms. The hair on the back of his neck stood, and his stomach flopped. He was afraid to move. 

 

The breathing broke into sharp laughter, and Jack flinched away from it, sucking a sharp breath in and holding it, still once more. His body kept freezing up, forcing him in one place, before he was finally able to break for the door. It opened easily, but Jack was faced with more darkness. 

 

He hesitated only for a second before making his way to the kitchen, hands roaming over the counter until he found what he was looking for. A knife. The laugh grew deeper, smoother, almost condescending. Jack shuddered. **_Do you think that will protect you?_** The voice asked, and Jack refused to answer, clutching the knife harder. **_Silly Jackaboy…Where would you even slice?_** The voice appeared only on his left side and he turned towards it, still holding the knife out. **_Come on now, really._** The voice was on his right now, and Jack turned. 

 

“Where are you?” he asked aloud, voice still scratchy. The laugh echoed throughout the whole of his apartment, taunting him. He shuddered, fingers trembling with the handle of the knife.

 

Still clutching the knife hard enough to whiten his knuckles, Jack began to tiptoe towards the front door, eyes wide and expecting. When he reached the door, he twisted the knob, but the door would not open. Cold fear trickled through his veins like ice, as he pulled at the door once more. It wouldn’t budge. 

 

He tugged at it one more time just to make sure, before he turned his back on it, leaning hard on the wood. Panic was pressing in on him from all sides, and the darkness filled his chest, depressing his lungs until he was gasping. He watched his darkened apartment with rapt attention, breath fogging in front of him in a white wisp before dissipating. 

 

 _When did it get cold?_ He thought, shoulders suddenly tensing and trembling to conserve heat. **_When was it ever cold?_** The voice said, reverberating around his skull. Jack looked around confused, before fire lit up before his eyes. Smoke filled his lungs fast, and he struggled to breathe. Suddenly the apartment had turned into an incinerator. 

 

 ** _In fact_** , and the voice was everywhere now. **_It seems like it’s heating up!_** The cackle that followed left a dull ache in Jack’s ears as he clutched at the wood of the door, terrified of the flames threatening to engulf him. He coughed roughly, and the movement pulled at his bruised throat. 

 

Just as flames began to lick up his arms, and he closed his eyes in terror, the heat was gone. He opened his eyes only to be met with the same darkness that had greeted him before. His lungs were clear, and his arms were un-singed.  Actually, Jack was fucking _cold_ again. 

 

“What?” he whispered, disoriented. He looked down and realized he still had the knife clutched in his hands. He lifted it higher, daring something from the darkness to attack him. “What’s happening?” his voice was on the edge of a whine, fat tears falling gently down his cheeks. 

 

The voice had been freaking him out for weeks, but this? This was new and terrifying, and Jack _hated_ it. 

 

 ** _Your senses are so easy to toy with, Sapling~_** It sing-songed, voice pitchy and high. Jack cringed hard, dropping the knife. The clang ran through his apartment, and Jack felt his heartbeat spike. The voice had been right next to his fucking ear. 

 

He cursed, fully processing too slow. He took a step forward, unsure. But fear rung too loud for him to ignore. His feet were moving before he knew what was happening, and he slammed the door of his bathroom, sliding down to the floor. His arm lifted mechanically to find the light switch, but it wouldn't come on. 

 

Jack felt a whine building in his throat as he sat on the cold tile floor. The situation slammed into him with a force he couldn’t breathe through. 

 

He was insane. He was actually fucking _crazy_. It was terrifying, and Jack wasn't sure if the idea of insanity was more scary than the voice itself. He was _hallucinating_. God, he was fucking _losing_ his _mind_. Jack continued to cry, wiping the tears away desperately with the sleeve of his shirt, leaving scratchy burns around his eyes. He was embarrassed with himself. He felt like a child. 

 

 

 _A crazy child_. A new wave of tears came with the thought, and Jack growled at himself in frustration. He stared across the room, eyes not really focusing as he listened intently to outside the door. He felt safe now that he had something to hide behind. Felt protected despite the heavy darkness surrounding him.

 

 

But the illusion of safety was shattered by the voice again. **_Hiding from me?_** The voice growled menacingly. Jack jumped to his feet, panicked breaths leaving his mouth and nose intermittently, as his fingers fumbled for the doorknob. What was he supposed to do? Where was he supposed to go? _How can I run from something in my head?_ He thought desperately. 

 

 ** _You don’t._** The voice was little more than a snarl, an Jack felt needles tickle all the way up his back and neck. 

 

“What?” he asked aloud, voice trembling. 

 

 ** _I said ‘you don’t’._** Jack felt shock run through him. The voice must’ve understood, because he explained. **_I can hear all those sad, desperate little thoughts up there~!_** Jack felt a breeze tickle his hair, as if something had brushed past it, and shuddered. 

 

Jack opened his mouth, parting his chapped lips with a heavy amount of effort. He was going to break his own rule. 

 

“What do you want?” he asked, though he _knew_ he didn’t want to know the answer.

 

The voice’s tone was a low growl, with underlying tones of crackling static. **_I want you._** Jack was right, he hadn’t wanted to know. The words trickled down his spine, following the length of his nerves across all limbs. Dread weighed his body down, as he finally got the door open. 

 

He pitched forward as if someone had hit him from behind. His head smashed against the floor with a heavy grunt, and his eyes slid closed. Jack was unconscious and unable to appreciate the moment the electricity came back on, but caught the high-pitched, eerie laugh that drained into his subconscious dream state.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _What's the matter, Jacky? Can't open the door?_
> 
>  
> 
> Ÿ̷̧̧̧͖̥̼̠͇̤́̓̈́̓͗͌͛̉̎̿͘̚ṍ̵̧̢͎̺̟̠̥̦̜̈͗̅͝ǘ̴̞̟̽͆̈́̋ ̷̗̮̺̲̫̠͔̇͒͘c̷̡̬̗͓͓̱͎̘͉̋͐̓̽̈́͑̌̈́̀̌͘͝à̸̢͙̤̳͙͓̫̳͜ṉ̷̺̞̞̬̃̑͆͑̀̐͆̀̀͛̈́̚̕͘͝n̷̩̠̳̲̲̰͎̝͛̇̈́̇̈́̅̀͘ơ̶͙̲̲͂̈́́̓́͋͛̀̓t̶̝̲̱̜̻̯̹̃͋̌͂̌̒̈́͊̐̈͒͗͛̾̽ͅ ̷̛͖̘̜̖̱̙̃̇̈̽̏̇͝h̷̠̜͉͉͉̤̖̩̗̠̄͊̽̃̎̈́̋̏̽ͅĭ̷̡̲̼͔̺͓̦͖̣̍̒̒͛̈́͝͝ḑ̶̡̡͎̠̪̳͙̞͙̈̓͗̑̑̅̚ė̷̪͕̠̹̱͔͉̘̲͗͆̓̈́̿͘͝ ̶̧̤̻̤͇̘̝̞͎͇̰̯͒͝f̶̳̗̜̲͈̾̈̿͊͘̚ͅͅr̴̫̺͙̲̲̩̱̊͂́̋͂̐́́̀̊͌͝͝o̶̤̦͖̹̬̪͖̞͂̕m̶̨̡̻̪͔̩͇̬̼̊̃̆͑̍̓̀͐̓͊͆́̇̄͠ ̷̬͚̿̒̈́͛̏͂̐͆m̵̧̨̩̰͈͉̬̤͙͓͒͊̾̍̅͘ę̶̨̩̖̙̳̬̠̣̟͚̖̒̓͂̑͆̆.̴̟̜̭͉̯͓͈̣̯̀̂̂̓̑̔͜


	7. Doctor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack plays doctor.

When Jack awoke he was in an upright position, standing, of all things. Disoriented, he tried to look around, but hands clamped onto either side of his head, and forced it in place.

 

A cry of surprise rushed past Jack’s lips, and he jerked in the grip, panic grinding against his sternum. Everything came rushing back to him, and he gasped, unable to process the situation. Who was holding him? When had he passed out? Was he in his apartment? Was the electricity still out?

 

 ** _Quiet._** The voice ground into his ear, and Jack immediately stiffened. For a moment, Jack was too absorbed in his own thoughts, in figuring out what was happening, that the voice directed his attention impatiently. **_Look, Jackaboy~_** It prompted, forcing his head to look down. **_Isn’t it pretty?_** The voice laughed in his ear, and a breath rushed past it. The voice was physically _there_. 

 

But Jack couldn’t pay attention to that. Couldn’t fight the bile down and think of anything other than what was in front of him. 

 

A body lay with a surgical blue cloth covering it’s face. It had another blanket-sized blue cloth covering it’s entire body, save for the abdomen. The abdomen had been sliced open, skin held back by a large metal tool that held the wound taut. The body’s chest rose up and down. They were _alive._

 

“Jesus fuck!” Jack screamed, trying to stumble back. He found himself unable to move, as the owner of the voice held him flush to his body. Next to the person on the table was a medical cart with various tools on it. Jack was horrified and sick. 

 

 ** _Stay still._** The voice hissed in warning. Jack couldn’t bring himself to nod. He suddenly felt frozen. _What’s happening?_ He thought, trying hard to quell the nausea. 

 

 ** _We’re going to be playing doctor, Jack,_** The voice said playfully. 

 

“What?” Jack asked, terror slipping past his shock. 

 

 ** _You heard me._** The voice growled lowly, causing tremors to work through his body. Hesitating, to choose his words carefully, Jack shook his head.

 

“I-I won’t do anything to anyone.” 

 

 ** _Oh?_** The voice asked. Jack nodded shakily.

 

“I don’t…I won’t hurt anyone.” He sounded less sure of himself than he would have liked. The voice laughed lightly. It was a dark sound. 

 

 ** _You will if I say so._** Jack couldn’t believe what was happening. His eyes were accepting it, but his thoughts were jumbled and confused. He didn’t know how to handle the situation he was in.

 

His eyes roamed anywhere but the body before him, as he tried adamantly to not look. He’d initially thought he had a strong stomach, playing the games that he did. He’d always thought he handled gore really well. But this was different, this was _real_. Jack had been so wrong. Real life was whole different ball park, and Jack thought he might actually throw up in the guy’s _body cavity_.

 

That thought alone caused his stomach to flop dangerously in warning. 

 

Eyes still roaming, it took Jack a minute to realize that he _wasn’t_ in his apartment still. He could see nothing except the person and tools in front of him, a small light shining above them. His heart picked up the pace, again. A hand placed itself onto his chest, and he jumped lightly, taking in a deep shuddering breath. The voice laughed again. 

 

 _Is he feeling my heartbeat?_ Jack couldn’t push the thought aside, and regretted having thought it at all. **_It’s so fun to feel it fluttering. It feels like the heartbeat of a scared little rabbit~_** The voice’s giggle was beginning to hurt Jack’s ears, high pitched, and too much for his frayed nerves. He twitched in response, choosing to ignore the words. The hand was removed from his chest, and he let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. 

 

 ** _Now,_** the voice said, sounding much like a teacher scolding her lackluster students. **_let’s get to work, shall we?_** Cold, pale hands covered his own and he shivered, trying to wrench them back. The hands tightened their grip to the point where it was almost painful. Gasping from behind his clenched teeth, Jack had to let the tension in them drop, stilling his arms. **_Good boy._** The voice purred. Jack closed his eyes briefly to collect himself. The hands loosened their grip slightly, and the pain faded. 

 

Jack didn’t know what to do as the owner of the voice began to move their hands towards the tools. He couldn’t cut into to someone. What if he killed them? Jack didn’t think he could deal with blood on his hands very well. Didn’t think he could live with himself. 

 

But the voice’s (the man’s?) hands were leading his over a pair of forceps and a scalpel with a curved tip. 

 

“Wait,” Jack said, voice weak. “Please wait,” the man behind him said nothing. His hands were hovering just over the instruments, shaking under the confines of cold skin.

 

 ** _Pick it up,_** the man said in his ear. The command was gentle, encouraging. Jack’s fingers twitched.

 

He couldn’t do it.

 

Despite the calm illusion of his voice, the man tightened his grip once more, fingers moving deftly to control Jack’s. Somehow the tools ended up clutched in his trembling hands. He tried to open his fingers, but the man covered them, keeping them in place around the metal. 

 

“Why are you doing this?” he whispered, afraid to break the silence that had fallen. The man laughed in response. Jack winced. As their hands moved towards the open cavity in the body before him, Jack closed his eyes, turning his head slightly. The man behind him allowed this for a moment, before correcting it. 

 

 ** _LOOK AT IT!_** he screeched in Jack’s ear. Jack jumped, gasping loudly. His eyes flew open, goosebumps rising everywhere. His hands slipped into the wound, and he cringed, crying out. 

 

Inside it was slippery and warm, and holy fuck he _couldn’t_. He tried to pull his hands back, arms jerking fruitlessly as tears began to roll down his cheeks.

 

“Stop,” he cried, still trying to pull his arms back. “Jesus christ, _fucking stop_!” His hands were forced in deeper, and suddenly the person below him was screaming. It was a man. 

Jack’s breathing was coming out in panicked spurts as he began to shake. 

 

“You’re hurting him!” Jack said, voice breaking. 

 

 ** _No, Seán, you are._** Jack shook his head. 

 

“It’s not—” but he was cut off.

 

 ** _You’re doing this, Seán. Look. It’s your hands._** As if any cords of control Jack had had were cut, he grasped at the organs underneath his hands. They were slippery and wet, and so malleable. Bile rose in his throat. 

 

“I’m gonna throw up,” he groaned, turning his head. The smell of blood was making it worse, and though he kept swallowing it back, it would come up eventually. “Let me go,” He didn’t know how he was doing it, controlling his hands, but he _was_ , somehow. He felt his hand curl around a squishy piece of flesh, and when he cast a glance back he saw himself pulling the man’s intestines out. 

 

That was it. Jack turned his head just in time to miss the man’s body, throwing up all over the tools and the floor. He spit, then coughed. His whole body was shaking harshly, his knees were weak, and if it weren’t for the man holding him up, he would have fallen. His hands were _still_ working on the body beneath him. He gagged as he watched himself throw the man’s intestines on the ground. 

 

The man was still screaming. Something about it sounded familiar. 

 

“Who is it?” he whispered raggedly. “Who is that?” The man sniggered behind him. 

 

 ** _Do you rea~lly want to know?_** Just as the man’s hand let go of his, and began to sneak up towards the cloth covering the person’s face, Jack caught a glimpse of green fringe peeking out from under the blue cloth and felt a cold sickness spread. The screaming sounded so familiar.

 

“W-wait,” he whispered, voice wavering. He didn’t know what it was, but he suddenly _really_ didn’t want to know. 

 

 ** _What’s wrong?_** The man asked, voice poison in Jack’s ears. **_Afraid of what you’ll see?_** Jack shook his head, confused and afraid. 

 

“I-I don’t—”  but the man behind him was already lifting the cloth. Jack was frozen as he stared into his own face. It was wet with tears, and blood had dripped off one lip. His tongue darted out as if on instinct, and he tasted the coppery blood that rested there. 

 

With a force that knocked the breath out of him, Jack was suddenly laying on his back, with a harsh light in his eyes. A person, presumably the owner of the voice, stood bathed in shadow, just his bloody hands visible.

 

Pain slammed into his body, and with terror he realized that he had cut into _himself_. He looked down at his own body, seeing the blue cloth over him, slathered in blood. In _his own_ blood. A scream rang through the heavy silence, as Jack’s eyes began to feel heavy, falling until he was once more bathed in the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Listen to me._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Ď̴̡̙͈̖͍͇̦̪̖͙̪̽̄̔͆͆̄́̍́̈́͝ǫ̴̡̨̗͎͇͈͕̟̥̟̬̓̈́̈́̋͘n̷̨͖͈̪̝̼͋̓̏'̶͓̻̰͍̝̳̘͕̥̙̋̇̆̚͝t̷͚̰̯͓͉̙͇̗̯̰́͂̈́̿͝ ̵̛͔̞̬̓̃̾̉̈́̅̕ͅy̷̺̠̪̪̼͖̐̅͑̀̆̊̋̔̿̈́̓͝͠͝o̵͉͂͆̊̌̃̾̏͐̍̆̕̕͝͝ú̴̢͌͌͗́͘͝͠ ̷̡̝̥̠͙̲̦͍̓̑̓̏̄̓͌̚͠ͅg̴̳̳̠͔̦͚̥̰̻̬͉̀͐̂͜͠ę̸̫͖̠͙̙̀̊͂̐̓͜ͅt̴̮͔̙̑́͂͗̾̽͂͋̈́̈́͘͝͠ ̶̢̛͖͕̞͕̦̠̞̭͗̃̐̄̈́͋̉̊̓͜i̴͎͎̯̓́̽̈́̚̕ͅt̴͈͖̜̲͖̹͇̬̅̋̐̈́̏̈́͑̋̒͗̓̀̚ͅ?̷̢̟̮̮̬̩̩̗̻̾̂̊̈́̽͂͑́͗̓͊́͗̑̀


	8. Merged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack learns.

 

Jack bolted awake in bed, hands curled in the bed sheets tightly, trying to ground himself to his room, to reality. They were white knuckled and shaking. He took a steadying breath in, then another, before steeling himself to look down. He was afraid of what he’d see there. 

 

Hesitantly he lifted his hands from their grip on reality, and closed his eyes. With slow, shaky movements he placed them on his belly. He tensed for a second, but then relaxed. He looked down at it. 

 

Nothing but sweat and skin. No blood, no organs, no blue cloth. _Safe._ He collapsed back onto his bedsheets, letting out a heavy exhale. He didn’t know how long he could keep playing this game. _Was it just a dream?_ he asked himself, listening to the pounding of his own heart. _It felt so real…_

 

A smaller, more logical side of him knew it was a dream, and accepted it. But a more irrational, emotion driven part of himself knew that it couldn’t be a dream. Knew that that wasn’t all there was to it. He had _felt_ it under his hands. He’d _felt_ the breath tickle his ear, and the weight of skin on his. He’d _felt_ the wound that had been cut into him…Hadn’t he?

 

But that _couldn’t_ have happened. It wasn’t possible! 

 

After a long moment of silence, Jack dragged himself from bed, padding over to his kitchen. His thoughts twirled and twittered in circles. He grabbed a mug for coffee, and set his coffee pot. He sat at his table heavily, a deep sigh on his lips. He needed to go to a _doctor_ , or something. 

 

 ** _You can’t get rid of me._** The voice growled, and Jack jumped, still too shaken from the nightmare. _The voice_ , he thought, trying to piece everything together. The voice had been a _real person_ in his dream…

 

But it was just a dream. 

 

 ** _Was it?_** The voice was taunting, and Jack managed an eye roll. 

 

“Fuck you,” he said aloud, fingers twitching. He thought for a minute, then sighed once more. “What do I even call you?” The voice chuckled lowly, and the sound made Jack shiver. 

 

 ** _You know,_** It started, pausing for dramatic effect. **_I think your fanbase has already given me a name._** Jack was stunned by this, running his hands through his messy hair. 

 

“What?” he asked, voice incredulous. 

 

 ** _Antisepticeye sounds good. Anti has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?_** Jack rocked back in his chair, before righting himself. He rose, beginning to pace. 

 

“Not funny,” he murmured, almost to himself. 

 

 ** _Who’s laughing?_** Jack felt his stomach drop into his shoes, but he had no idea why. 

 

“Shut up,” he snapped, pulling at his hair a little. “You’re not even real, you're just a voice in my head.” 

 

 ** _Am I?_** Ant— _The voice_ asked, tone pleased. He turned, eyes catching his reflection in the toaster. One eye was normal, but the other was slimy green, with black _something_ coming from it. He shuddered, closing his eyes. A dream came back to him, from months ago. A dream of knives and discolored eyes. Without really thinking about it, he spoke. 

 

“That was you,” he whispered, voice soft and shaky. The voice, again, laughed. 

 

 ** _Believe me now, Sapling?_** it asked, and Jack shook his head.

 

“Why do you keep calling me sapling?” he asked angrily, distracting himself. 

 

 ** _Because you’re hair is green, and you are stupid and malleable ~ much like a tree._** The voice didn’t really sound like it was joking. Jack groaned, rubbing his hands over his face. The voice couldn’t be a real…being? 

 

 ** _The technical term is demon,_** The voice deadpanned, and Jack felt his heart plummet. 

 

“Excuse me?” he said, surprised. He stopped walking, the sudden stillness almost as jarring as the words. 

 

 ** _I’m called a demon._** Jack didn’t believe the voice — _not really_ , but it would explain some things….

 

“You’re not real, I’m just…” he hesitated, loathe to speak the words. “I’m just losing it.” 

 

 ** _You believe me._** The voice said, and it wasn’t a question. Jack said nothing, ducking his head and clenching his fists.  **_Do you know why I finally told you?_** Jack shook his head silently, lips pressed together in a tight line. **_You’re not the least bit curious? After I let you think you were insane? After all that torture, you don’t want to know why I decided to tell you now?_** Jack took a deep breath in through his nose, closing his eyes. He collected himself, then shook his head again. 

 

“I-I don’t because you’re _not real_.” Jack didn’t know where the tremor in his voice came from, but he swallowed hard. He _wasn’t_ real. _Couldn’t_ be. It didn’t make sense. The next time the voice spoke it was a whisper in each ear. 

 

 ** _It’s because now…_** There was a light chuckle. **_We can’t be separated._** Jack sucked in a breath, despite himself. Then he bit hard on his tongue. 

 

“Shut up,” he said sharply. Jack wasn't going to let him get under his skin. 

 

 ** _Do you know how long I’ve been here? Hiding inside your body, waiting?_** Jack closed his eyes again. 

 

“I said _shut up_ ,” he growled, gritting his teeth. The voice wouldn’t. 

 

 ** _I’ve been here for so long, Jacky~_** The cackle that followed made Jack shudder. **_Months and months!_** Jack shook his head hard, then opened his eyes. 

 

“I won’t listen to you,” he murmured, turning around and crossing his arms like a petulant child. 

 

 ** _Waiting and waiting,_** The voice laughed. Jack lifted a hand to clutch at the bridge of his nose, hoping the pressure would help with his building headache. **_Merging us together until—_** Jack’s blood ran cold, and he released his arms, letting them drop to his sides. 

 

“Wait, what?” Jack asked, worrying on his lip with his teeth. The voice laughed again. 

 

 ** _What? Did you think I would exist in your body and not protect myself?_** Jack hated how much sense that made. **_Now you can’t get rid of me! Not without getting rid of yourself, that is._** Jack blinked once, then twice, then took a deep breath in. This was too much. How was he supposed to process this?

 

“I don’t believe you,” but his voice was quiet, and though he tried to lie to himself, he had a feeling he couldn’t lie to the voice. Indeed, he called him out on it. 

 

 ** _You’re a dirty liar, Seán._** He said, unyielding. Jack pushed his fingers through his hair, then pulled on the back strands. There was a long moment of silence as Jack decided his next move. He had questions, but he was afraid to voice them. Unsure how to word them. 

 

“S-so you’re…” Jack paused, took a deep breath for the millionth time. His voice was shaky, but he steadied himself. “So you’re a demon?” he asked hesitantly. The voice laughed in response. “Where did you come from? Why did you choose me? _What the fuck do you want?_ ” As soon as one left his mouth, Jack couldn’t stop the questions from tumbling out. 

 

 ** _Not until you start calling me by my new name._** The voice replied slyly. Jack shook  his head.

 

“I’m not calling you by the name of my fake alter ego, you crazy fucker.” Jack said, scratching at his left arm. 

 

 ** _What did you say?_** The voice growled angrily. Jack’s heart beat a little faster, but he said nothing. _What else could he possibly do to me?_ He thought to himself. It slipped his mind that the demon had already established the ability to hear his thoughts. He scratched at his arm again. It was suddenly so itchy. **_I’ve been working up the energy for this Jackaboy, and I think you’ll really appreciate my efforts. I know I will._**

 

Before Jack could scratch at his arm again, as the itch was getting critical, and before he could ask what the voice meant, Jack’s left arm moved without his permission. Jack’s blood ran cold as his own hand waved in front of his face for a moment, before it launched itself at his throat. The grip on his throat set the recovering bruises on fire. He tried to scream around it but couldn’t.

 

It wasn’t even the grip itself; it wasn’t even that tight. But the shock, the fear set his blood to ice. Because _what the actual fuck was happening_? The voice was laughing again, and Jack was so confused and afraid. 

 

“Stop!” he managed to choke out, less for his throat and more because he was _terrified_ of not having control over his own body. 

 

 ** _Are you gonna call me by name?_** The voice murmured. Jack nodded. He would do _anything_ to get control back. Apparently it wasn’t enough. **_Say it._** He growled angrily.

 

“Anti!” Jack choked. “God fuck, _Anti_!” Anti laughed at this, but the arm dropped, and Jack wiggled his fingers looking at it, waiting for it to pounce at him again. How was he supposed to prevent something like that from happening again? The itching immediately stopped, but he rubbed his palm over it anyway, nervously. 

 

What was he going to do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _You can't escape me now_
> 
>  
> 
> Ẃ̷̧̼̮̪̣̬̮̻̗̅̾̉̽̀͛͗̿̇͆͜͝e̷̡̧̩̞͉͐̿̌ ̷͙̮̠̹̣͎̋͒̎̒̌̾̋͗̿͘͝ḁ̵̳͖͖̖̘̾͑̄͗̕ͅr̶̝͓̅̅e̸̢̠̭̳̹͎̺͓̬̻̞̯̞̓̍̎͜ͅ ̴̡̧̯̫͕̥͉̱̖͚̪̱̪̐̂͑ờ̸̛̟̗̠̣̫͉̻̺̤̀̓͒̾͂͊̏̆͘̕͘ņ̴̢̖̲̰̬͇̖̦̪̝̞̘̦͍͒̋̋̏͑̃̓͝ę̸̢͓̣͚̱̍͛

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, poor, poor Jack. ;)


End file.
